


Melt the Ice (Around My Heart)

by WhichWolfWins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AO3 Fundraiser Auction, Alternate Universe - Ice Skating, Alternate Universe - Sports, Ice, Inspired by Blades of Glory, M/M, Sherlock lives in Canada as a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is an ex-figure skater trying to get back on the ice for the first time since receiving an injury that should have paralyzed him and Sherlock Holmes is a medalist with a name tainted with lies. This is the story about how these two men helped each other and fell in love in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melt the Ice (Around My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JessamyGriffith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/gifts).



> This fic is in no way brit-picked or beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, they are my own and I would love for you to inform me of them! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC, and anyone else involved in the making and producing of this show. This is in no way mine; these are their toys and I am simply playing with them.
> 
> **Warning: This fic is written only through research, not experience with the sport, so if you spot anything that I've gotten wrong, I would really appreciate you letting me know!**
> 
> This fic is for JessamyGriffith, who wanted a Johnlock fic inspired by Blades of Glory. Here, at long last, is the first chapter I promised!

Behind Sherlock’s childhood home in Ontario, Canada, there was a lake that froze over into the perfect ice skating rink come winter. One day, their housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, saw the young boy sliding across the ice in his shiny school shoes and she tutted fondly to herself. When she came to work the next day, it was with a pair of her long unused but never forgotten ice skates that were just a little too big for Sherlock. With a sock wrapped around his toes, the problem was taken care of and Mrs. Hudson fitted the white skates onto the boy’s feet for him and stood back to watch him try them out.

Sherlock was tentative at first, walking more than actually skating, but, as he did with most things, Sherlock picked up the talent not too long after and soon he was gliding across the ice like he’d been doing it for years. 

The young boy’s older brother, Mycroft, who was 10 years his elder and visiting from school in London, found the boy out skating on Christmas day, avoiding the dining room cluttered with family members visiting from all over the world for the icy expanse of the frozen lake. He watched, awed, as his brother twirled on tightly-laced skates around the rink with a kind of serene look that he’d never seen on his brother’s face before. 

It took a mention to their father from the older Holmes boy before the father even noticed where Sherlock got off to, and he was clearly displeased at the news. Their mother, however, hiked up her flowing, velvet maroon dress and crossed the snowy backyard in black high heels to go watch him for herself. With snow melting across the tops of her feet, Violet watched in wonder. 

The next day, Sherlock had a training coach and her name was Emma Hudson, his family’s housekeeper since before Sherlock was born and former ice-skating extraordinaire. 

**26 Years Later**

John races as fast as he can across the ice, focusing the push of his forward stride on his uninjured leg. He’s on his favorite rink, the one he used to play ice hockey on when he was a kid, and the ice is wonderfully smooth and slick beneath his blades. He’s always felt like he skates his best on this surface, despite the deep gouges in the ice he sometimes comes across caused by the weekend hockey practices that take place on it. It seems fitting that it’s where he should start practicing again. 

He’s halfway across the rink when he digs his toe into the ice and goes for a basic double flip jump. He’s always loved the brunt force of digging the skate’s pick into the ice and vaulting into the air; he prefered toe jumps over edge jumps any day. He knows instantly that he’s not going to land it as he does the three-turn and digs the ice pick in for a push off. He spins in the air, then lands neatly on his blades, only for pain to lance through his left leg. It slips out from underneath him and he hits the ground, landing on his right shoulder. He slides to a stop on the ice and breathes harshly through gritted teeth. His cane is all the way across the rink. 

John lays there on the ice for a while, breathing in deeply as the cold ice chills his back. The ice is dampening his hair and starting to dampen his shirt when he hears someone calling his name. He sits up and peers across the ice rink to see a vaguely familiar figure standing in the doorway leading onto the ice. 

He shifts around until he’s on his knees and rises to stand, hissing as the pain returns with his weight on the leg. John glides across the ice, pushing off with his left leg and balancing his weight on his right. 

“John! It’s me, Mike Stamford!” a rosy-cheeked man says. Despite his weight gain, John recognizes the bespectacled man as someone he’d used to compete with when he was younger. Mike is wearing a brown track suit with green, brown, and yellow stripes down the sides. He smiles at John. “I heard you weren’t skating anymore,” he says. 

Mike steps aside to let John step off the ice and John reaches for the cane leaning against the wall. “I’m not,” he says. 

* * *

Mike Stamford asks John if he’d like to grab a coffee and catch up and John agrees, because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll only go home to be angry with himself and his bloody body for betraying him. He and Mike go to the Criterion and each grab a coffee, then make their way to Regent’s Park where they find a bench and sit down. The sun is bright and there are birds chirping in the bright green trees. 

“The reporters said that you would never be able to skate again,” Mike says, looking out across the park. 

“Yeah, well, reporters say a lot of things,” John says. He takes a sip from his too-hot coffee, then picks at the label around his cup. “I can skate. The trouble is the landing.” 

“Did you hear about Sherlock Holmes?” Mike asks, looking at John with his small eyes wide. 

John frowns and looks up from his coffee cup. “What about him?” 

“The reporters said he had the first failed drug test in the sport in 22 years,” Mike says. “Which doesn’t make any sense. Last time I saw him, he seemed like he was doing just fine. A bit manic, but that’s Sherlock for you. I really don’t want to believe it, but the next drug tests will tell, right?” 

John drinks from his coffee again, scorching his throat. Sherlock Holmes had been one of the few ice skaters John truly admired. Not just because he was breathtaking once he was on the ice, but because he refused to let their sports’ traditional values change who he was. Sherlock was considered a freak in the skating world, just look at any interview fellow ice skater Sally Donovan had to say about him. She and Sherlock used to practice in the same skating club and Sally claimed Sherlock had a freakish obsession with crime stories and dead bodies. 

To be honest, John had been kind of harboring a bit of a crush on the younger skater for the past few months, ever since he’d first seen Sherlock compete. John was there, because his former skating partner, Molly Hooper, had been competing with her new partner, and boyfriend, Jim Moriarty. 

As always, Molly had looked shy out on the ice in front of a crowd. For their freestyle performance, Molly was an innocent young girl getting stalked by a blood-sucking vampire. Her innocence was played up by soft lighting and a pretty white dress. Now that he thought about it, he remembered that Mike Stamford was Molly’s trainer. 

Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes had started their freestyle performance standing in the middle of the ice rink. Irene was wearing a pretty, sparkly green dress that dipped down dangerously deep in the front and Sherlock was wearing a completely black suit. 

It was clearly a love story. The story started with the girl seeing the boy perform on the ice by himself and the boy noticing her doing the same. They were fascinated by each other and tentatively tried performing together, holding each others hands as they skated around the rink. It was clear by the end that the girl was more in love with him. He was simply fascinated by her beautiful moves on the ice; unlike her, who wanted all of him. It ended with Sherlock skating away from her, leaving her alone in the middle of the ice rink. Then a spotlight shined at the other end of the rink and Irene looked toward it like she’d heard a voice. She grinned and spun her way toward the light. Once she reached it, the light shut off and the crowd went wild. 

John had been fascinated by how elegant Sherlock managed to look. His movements were fluid, yet controlled. Watching him, though, John felt that Sherlock was holding something back and he really wanted to know what it was. The thought of Sherlock flushing that all down the drain had him feeling a bit sick. 

“You know, if Sherlock’s drug test comes up as negative, he’ll be in need of a new partner. Did you hear that they decided to try something new this year? Same-sex pairings; can you believe it? Molly is working with Irene now.” 

John smiles faintly. Things are changing in the skating world; his sister Harry will get a kick out of that. “You’re forgetting that I can’t skate.” 

“You looked pretty great out there today,” Mike says. “Look, even if you don’t skate professionally again, you should really talk to Sherlock. His trainer’s Emma Hudson, so she knows what it’s like to work around a disability.” 

Mike grabs a biro and takes his label off his coffee cup to scribble down an address. “He’s kind of been in a mood lately, so he refuses to answer the phone or his email for anyone besides Greg.” 

“Who’s that?” John asks, taking the address somewhat reluctantly and tucking it in his pocket. 

“He’s the one who keeps Sherlock sane,” Mike informs him. “He gives Sherlock cases to solve.” 

John’s eyebrows go up. “Cases? Is that what Sally Donovan was talking about when she said he was obsessed with dead people?” 

Mike laughs, his naturally pink cheeks deepening in color. “He and Sally were skating together once and shared a flat for a while and Sherlock didn’t warn her about the cases. She found some crime scene photos once and was out before the sun rose the next day.” 

John smiles and turns to Mike. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to stop by.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you can spare the time, I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> My tumblr is [ here](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/) if you would like to follow me!


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